


The Storms Over Asphodel

by LadyPeck



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Lost Love, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPeck/pseuds/LadyPeck
Summary: When Marcella awakens on a slope she has no past. She’s a blank slate. She’s found by Josiah, a kind and handsome man who guides her on the journey to discovering her past, and what her future may hold under the perpetually stormy skies of Asphodel.
Relationships: Marcella/Josiah





	1. Awake

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original story. A work in progress. Please don’t copy or claim it as your own. Don’t repost elsewhere. Feedback/comments welcomed. Thank you.

The moment I open my eyes is the moment I was born.

Before that, there’s no memory. I have no past. Right now, as my eyes flutter open, I’m on the first letter in the story of my life.

And what a strange story to begin. I lift my head, trying to get my bearings, to see where I am. Where I am will have to do since I don’t know _who_ I am. Right now, I’m lying face down on the side of a steep slope, as though I’ve fallen face down while climbing up. Maybe this is why I don’t remember anything. I’ve got a head injury. I instinctively feel my head. There’s not lumps, or pain, or blood to indicate the fallen down theory.

The ground is covered with a thick carpet of orange flowers that I don’t recognize. Above me is a sky roiling with low, heavy thunderclouds. Occasionally there’s a flash of lightning within, followed by a roll of thunder. Despite all this I don’t sense rain coming. It’s like the sky is issuing an empty threat.

My feet are covered with thin leather shoes. I’m wearing a light gray dress. From what I can tell, it’s Greek in design. I look like I’m dressed for a costume party, though I doubt there’s any parties going on out here. Behind me I see the hillside disappears into a valley so deep it’s swallowed by darkness. The wind is fierce and cool, but not unpleasantly cold. I can’t just keep laying here on the slope, and I know in my bones help isn’t coming, so I get up and begin to climb. It’s not long, maybe fifteen or twenty feet, before I reach a dirt road. It’s wide and well-traveled, with deep ruts made from what looks like wagon wheels.

Which way do I go? Left, or right? I look for any sign of people, civilization, but there isn’t a signpost in sight. No people. I don’t know which way leads to a town or which way leads to wilderness. There’s not even a sound to tell me if I’m near a settlement.

Left, or right?

I turn right. Indecision will only lead to me wasting daylight. The last thing I want is to be stuck, alone, on a deserted road, in the pitch black, so I start off walking, taking each step in the on the hump in the middle of the road. I follow it around one curve after another. Occasionally it narrows or widens. There are minor hills to crest and then descend, but the valley remains to my right. To my left is a steep hillside that’s steadily flattening out. I look for the day to darken but it doesn’t. Perhaps the cloudy sky made morning look like dusk. Perhaps there’s more daylight than I’d thought.

As I round another curve I see something sticking into the air. At first I think it’s a rock. Then I realize it’s man-made. I pick up the pace, thrilled, until dark thoughts flood my mind. What kind of people will be here? Judging by the look of the spire, broken and blackened by fire, I realize it’s likely abandoned, and perhaps that’s best.

The structure reveals itself slowly under my cautious approach. The spire is just the side of a house that collapsed, leaving rubble behind. The scent of ash and soot is light in the air, but it grows sharper as I approach.

A place like this will likely be home to highwaymen, wild animals, or ghosts. I’d rather face ghosts than the harsh hands of a rapist, or the sharp teeth of a hungry animal. Turning around now, after hours of walking, wouldn’t accomplish anything, so I move forward, keeping my steps quiet, my senses open to any sound or movement. I hate how exposed I am on the road. There’s simply no way to sneak up on the place. That was probably a benefit to anyone squatting here.

Overhead, lightning flashes in a bright streak across the sky, followed by a close, bone rattling clap of thunder. I yelp in fear at how loud it is. The ground even trembles underfoot. I search for any signs of life but I’m only greeted by the sounds of howling wind and moaning from the valley I climbed from. The mountains in the distance are shrouded in mist. I feel something in the air, and then I smell it: Rain is coming. It’s the worst possible time for it. Even as I stand there I feel mist against my skin, acting as a vanguard for the storm to come.

There doesn’t seem to be either man or beast inside. The ground is unsteady, and the sandals offer no warmth for my feet which are getting cold. The stones are sharp as I make my way over them. Inside it’s black as pitch, and outside it’s cold, windy, and wet. The rain moves swiftly in on driving wind. With no other choice, I cautiously venture deeper inside where the rubble isn’t as heavy.

Then I hear it. Horse hooves.

The sound is almost masked by wind and rain. Fearing the rider even more than the ruins, I hurry inside. It doesn’t take long for me to trip and fall. I bite back a cry of pain as I scrape my left knee. A series of lightning bolts illuminates the interior long enough for me to make out a half-rotted table, and a tapestry hanging from the wall behind it. I hurry toward the tapestry and slide behind it just as I hear the rider lead their horse inside.

“Good girl, Selah,” he says. His voice is deep and soothing to the horse. “We’ll have a Fire soon. Have an apple.”

I can hear the horse eating the apple with wet crunching sounds. My stomach aches with hunger in response. The man begins rummaging through something, creating the empty clink of metal cookware in the room.

“Let’s see if this flue escaped damage, eh, Selah?”

The striking of flint is soon followed by the pleasant crackle of kindling catching fire. I’m prepared to hunker down until he leaves, which is likely hours to come, but his footsteps draw near. Every muscle in my body tenses. What if he pulls the tapestry down? He may want it to cover his horse, or act as a padded barrier between his body and the cold stone floor. I try to prepare for that, for him to rip the cloth away and expose me. I feel about for anything I can use as a weapon and my hand comes upon a loose stone. I grip it tight and rear back, ready to strike.

Rather than take the tapestry I hear him grab the remnants of the table. He begins breaking it up, and moments later the crackle of the fire intensifies, the glow from the hearth brightens. I peep from behind the tapestry to get a look at the man I share this room with.

He’s remarkably handsome, tall, with brown eyes, and black hair he keeps cut short on the sides but sits in a messy mop of curls on top. His beard is smoothly trimmed and thick without being long. He keeps his neck shaved of any hair. He moves with ease, and a dancer’s grace. He rises to his feet and moves away. He’s gone for a long time. Long enough for me to consider trying to sneak out. Maybe I can find another room to hide in. But the fire has begun to warm the room and I don’t like the idea of sleeping in the cold.

With hurried movements I adjust the tapestry until it covers the floor and offers protection against the warmth-leeching stones beneath me. He returns just as I settle down. I can see him put water in the pot hanging over the fire. It hisses and steams when he does. Moments later he’s dropping vegetables into the water. He has several small leather pouches, all filled with spices, that he pinches from to season the stew. After that, he leaves the fire. The smell of the stew fills the air and my stomach growls, loud and traitorously. I try putting a hand over my belly to stifle the sound and hear his movements still.

“Hungry are you, Selah?” he says.

Relief floods through me. He thinks it’s the horse. I try to distract myself from hunger and thirst. I curl up on the floor. If I’m careful I can fashion a pillow and cover myself. I may go hungry, but at least I’ll be warm, and hidden. Everything is going well until I tug too hard and the tapestry falls in a billowing heap on the floor, exposing me.

Maybe it would be funny if this was a stage play. I’m revealed, sitting on the floor while the man stands halfway across the room. He’s holding a large wedge of cheese, half a baguette, and a knife. We stare at each other in complete silence. He’d undoubtedly planned to use the knife for his food, but would he find another use for me?

He breaks the silence first. “Don’t be afraid.”

I watch him closely. There’s a look on his face I can’t define. Shock, perhaps? Sadness? He sets the food down and slips the knife into his boot. He’s made a bed on the floor not far from the fire. The horse stands at the back of the room, chewing on something.

“You didn’t intend to reveal yourself,” he says. “I wanted you to come out when you were ready.”

“Bullshit. You had no idea I was here.”

“I saw you on the road. Your back was to me, so you didn’t know I was there until you heard my approach. You’re perfectly safe, I assure you.”

His assurances mean nothing to me. I don’t know him. I have no reason to trust him.

“I’ll just leave.”

He shakes his head. “That wouldn’t be wise. It’s pitch black out there, and storming. Do you even know where you are?”

I try to think up something that sounds reasonable. “I…I’m on my way to visit family.”

His smile is sad. He sees right through my lie.

“This is the Valley of the Deep.”

He says it as though that means something. I don’t know what to make of it. My blank expression prompts him to elucidate.

“You awoke not far from here on the side of the slope. You have no memory of who you are or how you got here. The dress you wear is what we’re all born into here. Default clothes if you will.”

“Who are you? How do you know so much about me?”

“My name is Josiah. Your memories will return once you’ve been guided to a Fountain of Memory. Until then you won’t remember anything from your past. Please, come out and have something to eat. I know you must be starving. I’m not going to touch you.”

My belly won’t allow me to lie about how hungry I am. It growls again. My parched mouth aches for water, but I’m afraid if I come out, he’ll grab me. It really doesn’t matter. He can simply walk over to me and take me by force if that’s his intention. I keep the stone in hand and get up. He puts the cheese and bread on the floor and moves back. I snatch it up, uncaring if it’s now dirty or not. A moment later he slides the knife to me.

“Now I’m going to trust you not to stab me,” he says, with half a smile. I grab the knife and toss the stone away, glad to have something I can use as a real weapon. I’m too hungry to use it on the food so I start eating, my mouth salivating as I eat. He takes a wineskin out of his saddlebag and offers it to me. I hesitate.

“How do I know it’s safe?”

“You think I carry poisoned wine just in case I find a victim?” he asks, shaking his head. He’s not upset, but amused. He uncorks and drinks. “If it was drugged or poisoned, I wouldn’t have done that.”

I snatch the wineskin up and drink. It’s dry, strong, but it’s at least wet. I guzzle until my thirst is quenched, and then hand it back to him.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Someone was nice to me when I first got here, so I’m paying it forward. We’re given a choice here. Become worse, or become better, than we used to be. I chose to become better.”

I don’t know what he means by that, but the wine has helped me to relax. He holds up one long, graceful finger. “We have needs to be met, so…”

He takes the tapestry and folds it until it’s a cushion. After that he opens a half-burned chest in the corner of the room and pulls out a couple of pillows and a bag of apples that look ripe and fresh. Their perfection is impossible.

“Do you live here?”

“No, I’m traveling.”

“Where?”

“It no longer matters,” he says, turning to me. “I just travel. It’s the only thing that entertains me anymore.”

He takes two metal cups from his saddlebag and goes to the stew. He fills them and brings me one. I blow on it to cool it. It smells delicious. We eat in silence, two cups each. My belly, full of hot food and strong wine, is no longer grumbling. I’m weary to my bones and the pounding rain outside is hypnotic. All the walking, the hiding, the fear, has taken a toll on me.

“Go ahead and sleep. You’re safe.”

I don’t know him. I don’t know if I can believe him, but I have his knife, and all I can do is hope he’s an honorable man. I lay down and go to sleep almost immediately.


	2. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcella is shocked to meet some of the locals. She visits a Fountain of Memory where she discovers more of her identity.

My dreams are dark, tumultuous. I’m on an altar in an abandoned church, tied down. A man, with a long beard and wearing a hooded robe that obscures his face, stands over me. I watch him raise a dagger high above his head in the room, lit by candles, prepared to drive it into my chest. I see a man being held to the ground by two enormous men. They wear the same robes, but have no beards. 

The man they hold, forced to his knees, begs for my life. He begs for mercy both of us know we won’t receive. 

_ I love you _ …

The words leave my lips just as the man brings the dagger down. I feel a moment of searing pain, I feel my heart stutter, and then  everything changes.  I’m in complete darkness. I struggle to crawl off a flat rock. The air stinks. It smells vaguely of  sulfur and rotting flesh. I keep crawling,  my fingers digging into grainy soil, pulling myself along.  It  feels like I’ve crawled miles before  I see something like light. It’s reddish/orange , and distant.  The world I’m in begins to take form. 

I’m close to a river made of blood. The smell of it makes me gag. I dry heave onto the ground because my stomach is empty and aching  with hunger. I stand up on shaky legs and look around. People mill about, covered in filth, their hair stringy and greasy, with looks of absolute misery on their faces.  There’s a deeply worn path before me. As I move forward I can see more of the landscape. The spires of a city are far in the distance, black spikes against that red-orange sky that stands in perpetual dusk.

The sound of blowing air and screams draw my attention. I turn around, look the way I just came, and see a massive spinning vortex. It spits people out into a deep well of shadow, which I’ve just left. The people coming through the vortex scream as they vanish into the inky blackness. People, some in gray robes  like I wear, but most in black robes, come stumbling out with the same look of fear and confusion that I feel.

** …. **

I awaken to soft snorts from the horse and snores from the man.  The ruins aren’t as dark now as they had been  when I went to bed last night. I study the horse. She’s still lying down, and she looks at me with brown eyes full of serenity. I get a powerful sensation of kindness and understanding from her, which is impossible. I’m not a psychic. She quietly snorts at me again and I return her greeting with a smile. 

The fire is nothing more than a few glowing embers now. While the room is cool it isn’t freezing cold. Outside I hear the rain has stopped. Josiah awakens as though sensing I’m up for the day. He rubs sleep from his eyes. 

“Morning,” he says. He’d been true to his word. He hadn’t touched me during the night. “Shall I take you to a Fountain of Memory? There’s one in the next village. You were walking toward it last night.”

“How far is it?”

“We can get there by tomorrow evening.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

We eat some of the impossibly perfect apples he’d pulled from the chest last night as our breakfast. After that I help Josiah pack up and we head out onto the road. I don’t remember ever riding a horse before. I climb up behind Josiah and wrap my arms around his waist and we move off at a steady pace. I hope I’m not too much of a burden on Selah’s back. 

The sky is as disappointingly stormy as it was yesterday.  The clouds roll fast,  though this time there’s no flashes of lightning, or rolling thunder.  The world is covered in a hazy mist that I find depressing. 

To my right is the slope  I awoke on yesterday. The button is far away and lost to blackness , but something catches my eye;  there’s a man lying in the ground. Just as I had been yesterday, he’s face down , unconscious. Further below are several more. When I look back, I realize there are hundreds of people lying facedown in the slope , while more climb from the darkness. 

“Shouldn’t we help them?”

“They’re not ready . They’re new arrivals, and must be allowed to wake up on their own.  Disturb them too soon they might go mad.”

“New arrivals to where? What’s at the bottom of that chasm?”

“None if this will make sense until you regain your consciousness . If I tell you now it’ll only confuse and frighten you.”

“Right, because I’m not already  frightened or confused , huh?”

I don ’ t know him well but I have a feeling he won ’ t cave to any demands. I decide it ’ s best to shut up and go along. This  fountain he plans to take me to is only a day away. I can wait that long for some answers. 

Miles pass beneath our  Selah’s hooves, most of it in silence.  She  never seems to tire and t he road seems to have no end . We pass only one wagon that is loaded with cargo. Josiah buys food . He also buys me a bedroll and pillow .

“ Only veggies? You a vegan? ”

“ A higher life form than plants would have to die to feed me. There are no innocent things here that can be feasted on. ”

“ What does that mean? ”

“ You ’ ll see. ”

I ’ m tired of that kind of answer , of being put off.  I wish there was a Fountain of Memory on the side of the road so I  can put an end to all my questions and  finally remember my own name.  I want that dream from last night will make sense.

We reach a crossroads with signs in each corner. The road ahead leads to the village of  Delphia . To our right it says the City of  Magron . Behind us is the town of Bell. And to our left is the village of Mnemosyne.

Josiah turns left onto a cobblestone road. I see trees a few miles ahead. Columns of smoke rise into the air.

“ A fire? ”

“ Cookfires , mostly, ” Josiah explains.

“ Is this Mnemosyne? ”

“ Oh, no. This is  a tiny settlement named  Reef . ”

We arrive as darkness  falls . The settlement  is nothing more than a collection of forges and tree mills, with a small general store and an inn. The people here are dressed in well-worn leather and some sort of rough material, gray or red in color ,  nothing vibrant . Most of the people are men, though there ’ s a few women outside  of  the inn, feeding horses I presume belong to guests . There are no children , which I find strange.

People nod and wave at Josiah, but when their eyes fall to  me, I see  what I can only describe as pity. Why would they pity me? Do they know something about Josiah I don ’ t? Is he dangerous?

“ Milly, ” he says, nodding at a middle-aged woman  with long  black  hair , and a sword strapped to her  left hip. “ Would you mind stabling Selah for me? ”

“ Of course I will. Hello, pretty girl! ”

Selah nudges Milly affectionately.

“ Brandon is inside, ” she says , in a thick Welsh accent .  “ He ’ ll fix you up with a meal and  room . ”

“ Thank you. ”

Her eyes land on me and I stop under her scrutiny .  “ Why does everyone look at me like they feel sorry for me? ”

“ We were all  new arrivals at some point, ” she says.  “ You ’ ll understand  when you drink from the fountain. ”

“ What is there to understand? Josiah won ’ t tell me. ”

“ You ’ re not ready, ” she says. Her tone is firm and brooks no argument. I heave an impatient sigh and follow Josiah  inside , feeling it pointless to argue .

The  i nn is  bigger than I expected. There ’ s room for  eight large tables. On either side of the room is a he arth, both  lit with fires to warm the space.  A bar is to our right. A man in his early sixties emerges from a back room carrying a bowl of fruit that he sits on the bar. He smiles upon seeing Josiah.

“ Josiah, my good friend. I haven ’ t seen you in a year at least! ”

“ I ’ ve been traveling again, ” he says.  “ Brandon, this is a  N ewcomer. No memory , no name . ”

“ Welcome, ” says Brandon. I shake his hand. Josiah leads me to a table.

“ What ’ ll you have for dinner? ”

I know exactly what I want.  “ Steak , medium . ”

“ There ’ s no meat here . It would be cruel for an innocent animal to come here, only to suffer the grinding of our teeth but never die, ” Brandon says.  “ I have a baked fettuccine  alfredo in the back. Would you care for that? It ’ s fresh. ”

“ Sounds wonderful ,” says Josiah.  “ And a couple of tankards, if you would. ”

The food is hot and delicious, but I have a craving for steak. I eat in sullen silence. Thoughts of who I am and what this strange place is take up my thoughts. Josiah ’ s deep voice remains in conversation with Brandon at the bar. They ’ re laughing about something when the smile falls from Brandon ’ s face.

“ Demonae , ” he says.

“ Where? ” Josiah asks.

The feeling of comfort and happiness is gone from the room. Josiah looks out of the windows and then motions for me to come to him.

“ Come, now. ”

The urgency in his tone spurs me to jump up from the table. Brandon hurries over and clears my dishes  as Josiah pulls me by the arm and hurries me upstairs. I hear the doors crash open a moment after reaching the upstairs landing.

“ What ’ s— ”

Josiah clamps a hand over my mouth and presses me to the wall. His brown eyes, normally kind and patient, are anxious.

“ You mustn ’ t make a sound, ” he whispers.  “ Breathe lightly. ”

He picks me up from the floor and carries me into the first room . He sets me on the bed and then takes a knife from inside his jacket pocket. He cuts his fingertip and then draws something on my forehead in his blood. I resist the urge to wipe it off .

He holds a finger to his lips, telling me to be silent, and then goes to a window and looks down. My heart begins to gallop as I hear a woman scream from the street below.

“ Get off me! ”

There ’ s a feral growl in response, then a sound of pain.  “ Bitch! ”

The voice is guttural. Barely human.  Not  being able to see them,  or  understand who or what they were, only makes my fear intensify. I get on my knees on the bed and peer out of the window beside Josiah. I can barely contain my gasp of horror.

There ’ s a man on the street. I think it ’ s a man. He has  horns growing from either side of his forehead and a reddish tint to his skin. His eyes are unnaturally yellow, like amber in the sun.  His body is lean, muscular. He wears no shirt, only a pair of leather pants edged in fur. His hands have black nails like talons. He retracts them when Milly levels  her  sword to his chest.  Runes on it begin to glow, and he backs away. It ’ s then that I notice his feet aren ’ t feet, but cloven hooves.

Behind her are three more women who cower beside a trough that Selah serenely drinks from, as though unconcerned with the conflicts between the women and these unnatural creatures.

Downstairs I hear the sound of more of those hooves stomping into the main room. Brandon ’ s voice is indistinct but the  demonae that have invaded the inn are loud and raucous.

“ I smell a newcomer! A female. ”

Josiah ’ s eyes meet mine. He motions for silence once again. Brandon says something but it doesn ’ t stop the  sound of hooves on the stairs leading up to  our room.

“ Remain perfectly still, ” Josiah whispers.  “ The  sigil will protect you if you don ’ t move. ”

He eases me off the bed and I tiptoe  to the corner of the room. He no sooner reaches the window, where he leans casually against the wall, than the door to our room is thrown open.

The woman that stands in the doorway is different from the man in the street. Her skin is as black as charcoal, as though it had been burned. The veins of her body are gold, a stunning contrast. Cloven hooves for feet, and curled ram ’ s horns grow from her head. Her hair is golden blond and falls in a sleek sheet down her back. Her golden eyes glow with interest when she looks at Josiah. Her body is curvy, strong, with a heavy bosom covered in green shimmering cloth. She wears but a strip of the same cloth to cover her bottom, not that she seems to care if she ’ s exposed.

“ I smell a female, ” she said. Her voice is only slightly softer than the man in the street.

The woman sniff s the air. She enter s the room, her footsteps heavy and clunking on the wooden floors. I remain perfectly still, especially when she approaches me .  Her eyes look right through me. I hold my breath, afraid she ’ ll feel it on her skin, even a few feet away. She moves along and I slowly exhale.  I smell sulfur in the air.  After  her circuit of the room, Josiah goes to the door and holds it open .

“ If you ’ ll excuse me, I ’ ve traveled far  today, and I ’ d like to rest. ”

She grips his tunic and pulls him from the door. She throws him to the bed and is atop him with inhuman speed.

“ Get off me,  demonae whore. ”

When she laughs she reveals her incisors are sharp and pointed. Fangs. I watch her begin to roll her hips suggestively and I feel disgust and anger. She ’ s sexually assaulting my companion. But what can I do to help him? What will she do to me if she sees me?

“ Don ’ t you want to be inside me? ” she asks.

“ Not in the least . Get off. ”

“ If you have  a female  here, angelic scum, ” she hisses,  “ I will have her for myself. I haven ’ t  tasted N ewcomer pussy in decades. ”

My blood runs cold. She means to rape me.

Josiah  pulls on a chain around his neck. He holds up a triskel ion that shines  with light. She hisses and leaps away from him, baring her teeth and  growling like an animal. He stands and lets the triskelion continue to glow. She can ’ t look directly at it.

“ Begone, ” he says.

“ Pray you don ’ t meet me without that trinket. ”

As soon as she ’ s gone Josiah slams the door and slides an iron bolt home to lock it. He hurries to the curtains, cuts his finger again, and draws a triskelion on each window. They glow with red light, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“ Gently now, come to the bed. Sit and make as little noise as possible. ”

I do as commanded, coming to the bed where I lie down. The sky has gone black, and the only light is from the sigils  Josiah drew on the windows. I lie down and he covers me as the room cools. His body is warm behind mine as he wraps his arms around me.

“ Mnemosyne has wards , ” he whispers.  “ We ’ ll be safe there. ”

“ I want to go home, ” I whisper.

“ You  will never see home again, ” he says.  “ Not the way you  know it now. Soon you will know why. ”

I listen to the tumult downstairs. Stomping hooves, guttural laughter, and the sound of  drunken fights. I manage to drift off at some point and awaken to  the sound of  Josiah ’ s soft snores. There ’ s silence otherwise. I shake him awake and he sits up.

“ I ’ ll check, ” he whispers.

He gets up and leaves. I sit in bed, wondering if he ’ ll return or be assaulted by the  demonae in the dining hall. He returns seconds later and nods.

“ They ’ re gone. Brandon says they rode for  Magron . Their main city. ”

“ What if we meet some on the road? ”

“ I ’ m protected. You ’ re safe with me. ”

“ Why was she afraid of that thing around your neck ? ”

“ It ’ s a  person al symbol of mine. It means, for me, love, peace, and life. She can ’ t tolerate such things. She dwells in darkness and evil, after all. ”

“ May I have one? ”

“ You ’ ll need to find your own  talisman  for it to offer protection. When you do, you ’ ll never be  completely vulnerable again . ”

“ But one of them attacked Milly. ”

“ Did you see her sword? ” he asked, lacing his boots.  “ That ’ s her protection. The women she guarded will find their own  talismans when they ’ re ready. ”

Brandon fe e d s us a meal of oats sweetened with honey, buttered toast, and orange juice. After Josiah  pays, we start out, mounting Selah and riding for Mnemosyne. This time Josiah pushed the horse hard, and  I’m s ure my teeth  will rattle out of my head before we arrive. My thighs and bottom  chafe in the saddle.

I expected to arrive at nightfall, and perhaps we would have if we ’ d ridden at a slower pace. Instead we reach a village , protected by a twenty foot high silver wall, a little after noon.  There’s  a feel to the place as we approach. Goodness  is the only way I  can describe it. Peace. This must be what hold s demonae back if they approach the gates. They sw i ng open as we approach, and then close again after we enter .

Josiah slow s Selah to a walk, and I breathe a sigh of relief. This place  is as different from Reef as night  is from day. The streets  have been planned and laid out evenly. Every house  is made of stone with thatched roofs. There ’s a few buildings that are two or three stories in height. Fountains splash near almost every building. Wagons  ride cobblestone streets and men and women move about on horseback. Once again, I notice there  are no small children. The youngest person I ’ d seen looked to be about eighteen.

I watch people look to me, casting me a glance filled with pity before going on about their business. Nobody greet s Josiah with any enthusiasm. In fact, everyone look s bored, or tired. Uninterested in anything in particular.

“ How long to the fountain? ” I ask.

“ We ’ re heading to the temple of Mnemosyne now. ”

“ That name  sounds familiar. ”

“ She ’ s the Greek goddess of memory. ”

“ Are we in Greece now? ”

Josiah shorts.  “ No. We ’ re in Asphodel. ”

“ Is that a country? ”

He doesn ’ t answer.  We ride along for another half an hour before we reach the center of Mnemosyne.  There ’ s a walled -in structure  dead center  with a gate directly before us. I hear water bubbling before we even stop and dismount.

“ A  N ewcomer, ” sa ys one of the two men guarding the entrance. They hold spears crossed over one another. They lift them, opening the way to the entrance.

“ Enter and gain knowledge, ” they say in unison.

My pulse picks up as I walk beside Josiah. The tunnel is short, and leads to a massive fountain in the center of the courtyard. Stone benches surround it. A few men and women in white robes sit and converse. They all wear silver bands on their right arms. I draw their attention as Josiah leads me in. 

A woman wearing a red robe approaches me. She ’ s older than the others, her hair silver, and her eyes black as coal. She has a kind smile when she stops in front of me.

“ Welcome to the Temple of Mnemosyne. Thank you, Josiah, for bringing her to us. ”

He bows and then turns to leave, but I grip his arm.  “ Stay. ”

He looks to the priestess . “ It is her prerogative. Have a seat, Josiah. ”

She takes my arm and pulls me to a set of steps that  lead to the fountain. A geyser shoots water  ten feet into the air and churns the water in the fountain below.  The fountain ’ s interior is lined with dark blue  tiles .

“ You ’ ve reached the Fountain of Memory, ” she says.  “ You are a blank slate. You have no past. You can remain that way, or you can drink from the fountain and remember. There are advantages to not drinking. There are advantages to partaking. ”

“ What are the  benefits of not drinking? ”

“ You get a fresh start, ” she answers.  “ Your time here will be shorter if you prove yourself redeemed without your past. If you choose to remember you will have to stay the full term. Your past may lead you to remember the worst about yourself. Maybe you were a good woman, or maybe you weren ’ t. There are two paths ahead: Heaven, or Hell. Angelic, or Demonic. Your past may push you toward one over the other. Or, your nature may do so as well . ”

“ I don ’ t understand. Heaven or Hell? Like the afterlife? ”

The priestess nods.  “ I will answer all your questions if you choose not to drink. However, if you do, you will have  some of your questions answered immediately. Do you want to remember who you were? Or do you want to start fresh from the moment you awoke in the Valley of  the Deep? ”

I  pull my skirts out of the way and kne el beside the water , leaning over so I can look in. The water churn s too much for me to study my reflection, which, I realize, I  haven’t  seen since waking here . I don ’ t know what I look like outside of the fact that I have curly black hair that hangs past my shoulders, and skin the color of bronze.

But as I look into the water I see something. An image of a faceless man. The man from my dream. It ’ s Cullen. He ’ s tall and big, with a muscular body and dark brown hair that he wears short. His powerful hands gently cradle a bird. He pets its head with a finger before he tosses it into the air and it flies away. He laughs as it  flies away.

There ’ s a woman. Slender and black. I know her, somehow, but the memory of her is just out of my reach. She ’ s someone special to me. She wears a black dress and weeps beside a casket. A girl is inside. She has bronze skin, like me, and curly black hair. Is that me?

I look away from the images flashing in the water. Driving along a road . Riding a motorcycle . Cooking. Kissing Cullen. Making love to him in the grass  in a garden. I see my hands on his chest as  I ride him. I feel his hands on my thighs. I feel him inside me. I love him so intensely I can scarcely breathe.  For one moment I see his face clearly and my heart swells with love.  How can I choose to forget him?

“ I want to remember. ”

“ Then drink the water. ”

She doesn ’ t offer me a  cup, so I scoop some up with my hand and bring it to my lips. The water is cold and fresh. Pure. I drink three times. On the third I realize my head has started to ache.  My belly cramps as though I ’ ve ingested poison. I look up at the priestess to see her smile at me. She kneels and lays a hand on my arm.

“ You ’ re alright. You will remember. ”

And I do. The veil is  lifted and I remember everything. I remember the woman in the black dress.  Paris, my mother. She ’ s standing over me in a casket. My name is Marcella Bennett. Cullen Harper is the love of my life.

A religious cult  has been going around the country, sacrificing people to a god they call  Omega, and Cullen connected the dots.  He ’ s a reporter for a local paper but it was his work that brought to light murders th e police had dismissed as accidents, or unrelated  homicides .  Enraged he ’ d outed them, they kidnapped us and took us to an abandoned church they held meetings in. They laid me on an altar and  plunged a dagger into my heart while Cullen watched.  They sacrificed me to their  g od.

I ’ m dead.

“ Do you know why you ’ re in Asphodel? ”

I look up at the priestess. I feel oddly disconnected from everything. Shock, I think it ’ s called. I shake my head.

“ Asphodel? ”

“ The realm that is not as bad as Hell, but not as wonderful as Heaven. The souls that come here don ’ t deserve damnation but they ’ re not  deserving of  paradise. ”

“ What? What did I do to deserve Asphodel? ”

“ Don ’ t you know? Because I do. ”

Then it hits me. “ Kennedy Brown. ”

She nods once.

“ I was twenty-two. Kennedy and I went out to celebrate her twenty-first birthday. We got drunk at a club. She begged me to call a cab home . I insisted I could drive. I browbeat her into getting in with me. I wrecked. She died. ”

“ You didn ’ t intend to kill her, but you  did. She wasn ’ t the only one you affected that night. The man you collided head-on with became a paraplegic. He will never walk again. You ruined two lives but you did it without evil intent. Your conscience, the unrelenting remorse, your attempts to become a better person are the only reasons you ’ re not in Hell. ”

The priestess helps me to my feet.

“ You ’ re a good woman,  Marcell a, but you made a mistake that ended in tragedy for two people, and everyone who loved them . I believe you can use your time here, in  Asphodel, to prove you ’ re worthy of Heaven. ”

“ How long will that take? ”

“ Every person is different so your time here  depends on you .  At the end of your time, when you ’ re ready, you will be  judged. You will either enter  Heaven or be banished to Hell.  Those  demonae you met on the way here? They didn ’ t learn from their earthly mistakes. They started here with the same paths before them as everyone else but chose to give in to their darkest impulses. They ’ re demons in the making. They will soon graduate to Hell. ”

“ I don ’ t want to go to Hell. ”

“ Then learn from your mistakes. Do good here and you won ’ t. ”

“ What of Cullen? What happened to him? ”

“ Time will tell. That ’ s the only answer I have for you. ”

I  look into the  churning water  of the fountain , but  there ’ s just water now. All of the memories it held are now inside me.  There  are no visions of my earthly life left. I  can ’ t bear to move. I  can ’ t even  let myself  think about what  lies ahead . I ’ m dead . I ’ m no longer a living  person, but a soul  in some  middle  realm between  paradise and  damnation. How do I  accept  that?

“ Marcella . ”

Josiah kn eels beside me . He  la ys a hand on my shoulder and  gives me a comforting squeeze.  I cove r his hand  with mine and look up at him.

“ I ’ m tired. ”

“ Come along , ” he says.  “ You need time to rest. ”

I don ’ t resist when he pulls me to my feet and leads me from the fountain, back onto the street where Selah waits patiently for us.


End file.
